Hobbit Hair
by LeiaPrincess21
Summary: John has hobbit hair.  Sherlock feels as though it is incumbent upon him to tell John. Assuming established romance. Johnlock.  T for language and implied shagging.


**AN: Forever thanks to my darling Sasha who mentions these random things that inspire me to write when we have conversations about Sherlock. Adorable, squishy, drabble. Established relationship. It's happy I swear, just give it a second. **

John slammed the chair against the kitchen table. He didn't have shoes on so he couldn't stomp and missed the opportunity to slam the only door he walked past on his huff, so this was his only opportunity to audibly express his discontent. He was pacing with nothing to do. Slamming the chair against the table again he set out to make tea, noisily. Sherlock, however, was in the bedroom desperately trying to suppress a giggle. His desperation to remain stoic but complete inability to do so reminded him of when he was in Buckingham palace in only a sheet. Schooling his face by mentally reciting 1000 digits of pi backwards, Sherlock rose from the edge of the bed and began to walk into the kitchen where it sounded as though John was trying to get another ASBO by battering the kettle.

"Come now, the kettle doesn't deserve that kind of treatment." John looked up at Sherlock who had just come into the kitchen. His eyes fell upon the half opened shirt and still reddening love bite on Sherlock's collarbone and he turned his back again to slam the sugar tin back into the cabinet. Sherlock, of course, noticed where John's eyes had fallen and began to re-button his shirt. John was still dangerously close to breaking their kitchen so Sherlock spoke again.

"John, come now," John didn't acknowledge him, "John. John! Doctor Watson!" Sherlock shouted. John spun on his heel to face the older man.

"WHAT? What, Sherlock? What **ever** could you want." John was so mad he spat a little when he yelled.

"I want to know why you left the bedroom."

"You want…you…I left because you **insulted me**!" Sherlock tried to respond but John cut him off. "No, no, Sherlock. I'm talking! Just for **one second**. I'm used to you insulting me on a neigh daily basis at work. It's part of your ruse. You put me down and I take it and it makes you seem fucking brilliant. But I never fucking thought you would bring it into the fucking bedroom. You took your time though. Three months. Did you mark it in your calendar? Have a check mark. 'On this day I'll insult John while we shag.' That how it works?" Sherlock was getting upset and interrupted.

"Technically," he was yelling and didn't want this to become a fight. He lowered his voice by three decibels, "technically we weren't shagging yet, and, and," he cut John off as he tried to run over Sherlock's words with more yelling," it wasn't an insult. It was an observation."

"Do you think it's a turn on to say shit like that? I know you get your rocks off on dead people but insults? How sexy do you think I feel when you say I look like Justin fucking Beiber?" Sherlock had to struggle to not smile again.

"I merely noted that you needed a haircut as you were beginning to look like that American Beiber bloke."

"How, Sherlock, how in your fucked up mind is that pillow talk?"

"I don't know. It's a miracle I was even up for sex. It's illogical for me to want to sleep with you when you can't even see me through your hair and in order to keep it out of your eyes you have to twitch like a leaf bug hiding from predators."

"A what hiding from—you know what fuck it. I don't even know why I tried. I'm damn glad we kept a bed in the upstairs room 'cause I need it tonight." John started to storm off but Sherlock caught his arm.

"No, John, wait." Sherlock looked legitimately worried so John acquiesced.

"Just…look in the mirror." Sherlock drug John over to the mirror in the main room. "Now yes, like this you look fine. But…," Sherlock began to shove John's hair into his face, "this is what you look like when you're over me and gravity is not on your hair's side." John looked in the mirror and fought the urge to flip his hair out of his face (which he had to admit was rather like the Beiber bloke). John now fought the urge to smile.

"I look like a hobbit." Sherlock's face relaxed and he stopped worrying he would have to sleep alone that night. "I look like a bloody hobbit. God and I'm short too. I am one set of hairy feet and a strange obsession over a ring away from being Bilbo Baggins himself. God you're a saint for even snogging me like this." Sherlock stepped back, twirled on his heel once, and clapped.

"See! I told you. Now will you **please** go to the barber tomorrow. I don't like girls I don't need fringe on my bedmate." John laughed and pushed his hair out of his face, careful not to flick it.

"Oy, be nice. Just know it's not exactly sexy to tell me I look like an American pop star whose bollocks haven't even dropped yet."

"Descended testicles or not the people on the Entertainment shows say he's a sex idol."

"Yeah well he's a child so…ew. Come on I've suddenly got the urge to watch Lord of the Rings again. Want to order in and marathon them 'till we drop?" Sherlock's lower lip protruded a little in the closest thing that Sherlock ever did to pouting.

"So…no sex?"

"Sherlock you told me I look 17 so no, no sex tonight. I'll get a trim tomorrow and we'll see how I feel but I'm sorry if I don't want to shag after that." Sherlock flung himself on the couch leaving no room for John. He was pouting. "But I have longer hair and you'll still shag me."

"Really Sherlock? Oy, your hair curls and looks good that length. Anyways I don't have an issue with my hair you do. **You**, good sir, insulted **me** if you remember!" John was starting to get ruffled again so Sherlock just drew in his knees, making room for John. John punched the button on the DVD player that he'd been loading since Sherlock began his pouting.

"Ta. Now get your massive feet off me and sit up so we can watch this film." Sherlock sat up glaring.

"My feet aren't massive. You're just saying that to get back at my Benbur comment."

"It's Beiber and no I'm not, they're huge. But I love them so don't get all huffy. Movie's starting." John nodded towards the screen. Sherlock frowned again but gave in. He leaned back and pretended to watch the film. He'd seen it before so there was no use in re-watching it but John enjoyed pointless repetition so he wouldn't say anything. Instead he would try and make a list of flaws in John to not mention and try to come to love so that they didn't interfere with sex again. The hair was first, followed by the duck footed walk, followed by…


End file.
